


Little tales best left untold

by AWaitingList



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:07:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28727838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWaitingList/pseuds/AWaitingList
Summary: A lot of tiny stories, exploring mood and feelings. Just a bunch of Vignettes.
Relationships: Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le
Kudos: 3





	Little tales best left untold

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic and I would really appreciate any criticism you can offer to me.  
> This work is a work of fiction.  
> This is not a continuous story- rather it's a collection of short stories, mostly unrelated with one another.

The sky was a pale summery blue.

And Jisung was hiding, behind the tree, playing hide and seek. All alone. For one last time. Playing Hide-and-Seek alone defeats the point, for where was the thrill, the anticipation of defeat and the end? For what was endless victory if there was never a margin, a chance of error, of failure, of defeat? And he knew where to find his best friend. He’s hiding under the staircase, in the tiny closet, where they hung streamers, banners, pictures and scrapbooks. Of a time long gone. Would he be tearing down everything? Would he be eating his packet of chips? Would he come find me?

He’s angry. And Jisung’s angry he’s angry at him. Turning his back towards the tree and the house, he turns to look at the white fine line, so very thin, the only border between heaven and Sea. Besides him, and below him, and above him, were a jumble of pink and yellow fine houses, settled among the cliffs, with little harbours at the bottom, mostly slips of water between stone cliffs for tiny sailboats or the rare miniyacht. The air was fine and Mediterranean, the fish was fresh and meals that didn’t leave your stomach feeling like it would burst through the seams of your skin. From afar, he could see Italy. What was there not to love?

_So why, why are you leaving?_

He could sense the resentment, it had Chenle’s voice, no not just him but also his, a mangled melody that wound its way through his brain.

Because.

Because the beaches were made of tiny stones, and unlike the beaches in the stories, were uncomfortable for his bare feet, uncomfortable to lie on and offered no opportunities to craft sandcastles.

Because he wanted to see the metal spires that surpassed even the highest limestone cliffs, the way he could reach the skies closer and closer than he had ever done so in his 17 years of existence.

Because he wants to learn at an institution called a university, to meet all sorts of strangers, to finally live in a place where not a single person knew anything embarrassing about you.

Because it had been their plan and only he qualified for the scholarship.

Because in this tiny town, a place that seemed to always pop up in those storybooks, offered no relief, for he was nothing more than a nameless character, condemned to live his life like yesterday, where consistency was constant.

The plane roars by once more.

He will be leaving all of this behind in an hour's time. He could see the bumboat, bobbing along the horizon, increasing in size and he felt his stomach sink equally deeper with each second that passed.

And he comes out, appearing gaunt and pale like a ghost. No. Rather, he looked like he had seen a ghost. Chenle stops a few steps away from him, too far away for him to hold his hand but close enough for Jisung to see his eyes, once-familiar brown eyes that he could no longer decipher.

_Was it sadness? Anger? Silence._ A sort of silence that Jisung wasn’t sure if he should fill or leave empty. Why was this so hard for him? Why couldn’t he read his friend’s mind, especially on their last day together?

_It isn’t the last time you will see each other,_ his mind chided, but even it did not sound convinced.

“Will you call me again?” Chenle asked. The sea breeze had gently lifted up his hairs, letting pure sunlight shine on his face, washing out the details of his eyes.

Jisung turns back to look at the bumboat. It was now the size of the cat from up here, halfway to the harbor. He looks over his shoulder, at the shorter boy whose head was tilted, eyes cast in greys and dark browns. “I will try.” He was still angry.

So why was he still dismayed to see Chenle’s face fall shut? Chenle had become a blank, and when he lifted his head, it was clear that he had ceased to regard Jisung as being present, or existing at all. “I see,” He nodded curtly. Without further comment, he stalked his way back to the little yellow house, pastel green grass springing up in his wake.

“I’ll call you every week,” He offered, one last time. _Why can’t he see that he’s being unfair, that I have no say in this matter?_ “On Skype.”

Chenle turned, his face impassive as ever. Jisung wished it would show something- anger or remorse. But just as he had previously, as he had all day, Chenle responded cooly. “I suppose you will.”

There were no words left between the two friends.

After the last of Chenle’s frame vanished into the shadows, Jisung stood where he was, under the holm oak. The docks below were full of activity that Jisung could care little to detail about, the skies above full of screeching gulls and yet there was only silence here.

Their father had always taken great efforts to bring their families together. They had organised parties and made sure the two had never left each other’s sides since they were toddlers. And he had liked Chenle very much. But now he thought, how odd it was he never shared any of his thoughts with Chenle nor did Chenle share any of his with him. They simply played and hung out with one another because they were the only children in this town. How little he knew about Zhong Chenle as a person. He thought of the townspeople, of whom he had spent 17 years with, and he had never seen them as someone he could trust, someone who he could relate to. They were all just props, background characters, all conforming to simple roles that never revealed anything deeper or richer. And while he didn’t mind them, he could tell the world was telling him to leave now, to meet complicated people, to finally feel risks and rewards. He would make new friends, meet new people, and make a family for himself.

He finally acknowledged the luggage beside him, leaning down to grab it as he descended the smooth steps. An ache within him yearned to look back at the yellow cottage. _Chenle wouldn’t look at me. He doesn’t care if I’m gone._ The boat grew larger and larger- it could certainly hold 12 people for sure.

**_Two can play this game, Zhong Chenle._ **


End file.
